A/N: Special thanks to Smackalicious for "beta-ing" the story.
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Chapter 6
"I'm okay now, boss." Tim was standing in the corner of the elevator, pale and determined.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"Okay. Go down and see Ducky first and then come back." When Tim started to protest. "No arguments, McGee. That's an order."
"Yes, Boss."
Gibbs rode the elevator to the morgue and made sure Tim got off. Then, he went back to the lab.
"Gibbs! What's going on?" Abby was standing in front of the elevator, arms akimbo, feet planted firmly. "These two won't tell me anything, and I know something's going on."
"You'll have to wait, Abby."
"For what?"
"For McGee to tell you."
"Why is everyone being so difficult?" Abby shouted as she stomped back to her lab again.
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"Timothy, you look absolutely awful. Sit down, right now."
"I'm okay, Ducky."
"No, you are not. You're transparent. I'm amazed you're even upright." Ducky pushed Tim onto a chair and then summarily pushed his head between his legs.
"Is this really necessary, Ducky?"
"Yes, McGee. Quiet. You're on your way to a coronary if you don't stay still."
Tim had no strength to fight Ducky's hands so he just sat still as requested. He still felt foolish. At least he wasn't wearing a tie today. Otherwise it would be hanging in his face right now. Why was everything so bad this time? He'd investigated suicides before. He'd even investigated a couple of hangings, and it had bothered him, but not very much. He hadn't even had nightmares those times. What was making him overreact like this?
After a few minutes, Tim asked, "Ducky?"
"Yes, Timothy?"
"Can I sit up now? I think all the blood in my body is rushing into my head."
"Let me see, come on up." Tim straightened gratefully. Ducky looked at his face. "Well, you're still pale, but better. Now, what happened?"
"It was just...unexpected."
"What was?"
"Abby's new decorations. She blew up one of the images Tony took yesterday of the bodies."
"I see."
"If I had known they were there, I would have been fine, but I wasn't expecting it."
"Timothy, I want you to stay sitting for a few more minutes. Tell me: why were you in therapy for a full two years? That seems pretty long, even considering the circumstances."
"Do we really have to talk about this, Ducky? It was so long ago."
"Yes."
Tim shrugged. "The first bout didn't take, I guess."
Ducky just looked at him.
Tim sighed and explained, "It was originally six months, but when my mom asked me to go to the basement after I had stopped my sessions, I couldn't. I walked to the door and couldn't go down. I couldn't make myself move down the steps. When she tried to make me, I went into shock. So I went for another six months, once a week after school. Everyone thought I was fine. I thought I was fine, but the night of the first anniversary I started screaming and woke up the whole house. My mom couldn't get me to wake up for ten minutes. I just kept screaming about my dad being dead. The next door neighbors called the police thinking someone was being killed." Tim smiled weakly. "So I went back to the psychologist."
"For another year?"
"Yeah. I'd always been the nerdy guy in school, but do you know how hard it is to be normal when everyone knows that you have to see a shrink at age fourteen?" Tim shrugged again. "After that extra year, I still had nightmares around the time it happened, but I went to school and everything was fine."
Remembering what Tim had said yesterday, Ducky asked, "Did you ever go back to the basement?"
"No. I would go into anyone else's. I had friends who had rooms in their basements and I didn't have a problem with it. It was just my own. Eventually, my mom stopped trying. Sarah resented it at first because when she got older she was the one who always had to get stuff from down there."
"And now?"
"Now? She's always around during this week. Mom always calls me at least once and sometimes Sarah stays over."
"So how was last night?"
"Bad."
"Worse than usual?"
"Yes. Can I go now, Ducky? I do have work to do."
"Alright, Timothy. You may go. I don't like what I'm hearing though."
"Ducky, it's over. Long over. It only bothers me once a year." Tim started to leave the morgue.
Ducky called after him, "One more question, Timothy."
Tim didn't turn around. "What?"
"Did you ever find out why?"
"Why what?"
"Why your father committed suicide?"
Tim froze. "No." Then, he walked out, leaving Ducky staring after him.